he came into the room where he and Dryfoos were
sitting.

Dryfoos seemed determined to leave the word to March, who said, after
an inquiring look at him, "Mr. Dryfoos has been proposing to let us have
'Every Other Week,' Fulkerson."

"Well, that's good; that suits yours truly; March & Fulkerson,
publishers and proprietors, won't pretend it don't, if the terms are all
right."

"The terms," said the old man, "are whatever you want 'em. I haven't got
any more use for the concern--" He gulped, and stopped; they knew what
he was thinking of, and they looked down in pity. He went on: "I won't
put any more money in it; but what I've put in a'ready can stay; and you
can pay me four per cent."

He got upon his feet; and March and Fulkerson stood, too.

"Well, I call that pretty white," said Fulkerson. "It's a bargain as far
as I'm concerned. I suppose you'll want to talk it over with your wife,
March?"

"Yes; I shall," said March. "I can see that it's a great chance; but I
want to talk it over with my wife."

"Well, that's right," said the old man. "Let me hear from you tomorrow."

He went out, and Fulkerson began to dance round the room. He caught
March about his stalwart girth and tried to make him waltz; the
office-boy came to the door and looked on with approval.

"Come, come, you idiot!" said March, rooting himself to the carpet.

"It's just throwing the thing into our mouths," said Fulkerson.
"The wedding will be this day week. No cards! Teedle-lumpty-diddle!
Teedle-lumpty-dee! What do you suppose he means by it, March?" he asked,
bringing himself soberly up, of a sudden. "What is his little game?
Or is he crazy? It don't seem like the Dryfoos of my previous
acquaintance."

"I suppose," March suggested, "that he's got money enough, so that he
don't care for this--"

"Pshaw! You're a poet! Don't you know that the more money that kind of
man has got, the more he cares for money? It's some fancy of his--like
having Lindau's funeral at his house--By Jings, March, I believe you're
his fancy!"

"Oh, now! Don't you be a poet, Fulkerson!"

"I do! He seemed to take a kind of shine to you from the day you
wouldn't turn off old Lindau; he did, indeed. It kind of shook him
up. It made him think you had something in you. He was deceived by
appearances. Look here! I'm going round to see Mrs. March with you, and
explain the thing to her. I know Mrs. March! She wouldn't believe you
knew what you were going in for. She h